


Striking Out

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 04:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19805002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: For someone who has never picked up a bat, Emma Swan knows more about baseball than some of the guys on the field. To be fair, she’s that way with every sport. It’s her job, and it’s one she takes seriously. She’s been an on-air sports broadcaster for the past four years, and she’s damn good at it, better than some of the former professionals and pundits that she works with every day.So when she gets a chance to cover the World Series, a chance to follow her home team, she knows that nothing is going to stop her from doing her job.Well, except for Killian Jones asking her out on live television.





	Striking Out

**Author's Note:**

> In case any of you wander over here after you've read Catch Me If You Can, this is the quickly written one-shot that inspired the story. Except Killian is definitely not a pitcher here (they don't bat in the American League, and he definitely does that in this story), so that changes some things around. This is pretty much an entirely different world ❤️

The video restarts, and she presses play again, watching it for what has to be the tenth time tonight. Or this morning, really, since she knows that it’s three in the morning, the sun long since set, and her eyes have been glued to her laptop ever since she got back to her hotel room.

Sleep would probably be a good idea right now, but she can’t seem to stop watching herself barely keep her shit together while on National television.

Seriously.

National television.

She’s going to murder Killian Jones, and she doesn’t even care if that’ll get her on TV for reasons entirely separate from her job.

_“Killian,” she starts, holding the microphone to her mouth as she speaks and Killian wipes the sweat from his brow, pushing back his long hair before placing the World Series Champion cap back on top of his head, a bright white smile between his lips, “you hit the home run that brought the Yankees to their win. You’ve had an incredible season, an even more incredible post-season. How is it all feeling right now?”_

_His grin somehow gets impossibly bigger, the lines around his eyes crinkling, and she recognizes the look in his eyes like she always does. She’s been interviewing him for three years now and following his career around long before she’d actually met him through work, so she recognizes a lot of his mannerisms. It’s odd for her to know every career statistic that he has, to know about all of the publicity about his private life, and yet to have only talked to him while he stands on a field sweating under the glow of stadium lights or in the dimness of the locker room._

_But that’s her job. She’s a reporter for ESPN, which is pretty damn awesome, and unlike a lot of people she works with, she actually likes to know what she’s talking about. She’s not a former athlete, not some kind of all star with household recognition, and she’s a woman. Those three facts make her life impossibly harder, and if there’s anything she’s learned in her nine years working here, it’s that for every step that one of her male colleagues takes, she has to take ten. It’s idiotic, sexist, and all around wrong, but if she’s on TV spouting out facts that are incorrect, there’s twenty thousand men at home tweeting her and the network telling them to get the “dumb bitch” off their TVs._

_Charming, right?_

_But it’s her reality. Most people only care about how she looks, about how her ass looks in a skirt, but that’s not what she cares about._

_(Even if she has a good ass.)_

_She cares about the game._

_And anyone who cares about baseball, cares about Killian Jones._

_He reaches up to scratch behind his ear, which is a tick of sorts that she’s noticed, before he leans into the microphone. “Right now, it’s pretty unbelievable. It hasn’t sunk in yet, not really, but I’m happy to be here wearing this hat, having the trophy. It’s been a long road for me personally, for the team, and I’m in a bit of euphoria over it all.”_

_“How in the world are you not burning alive?” Ruby says in her earpiece, and she has to keep herself from rolling her eyes with the forced smile on her face. “He’s so hot. And I can’t even see his ass.”_

_Her producer being her best friend is both the best and worst thing to ever happen to her._

_“I bet,” she says to Killian, looking up in the blue of his eyes as chants start to ring out across the stadium. Ruby won’t stop talking in her ear, and that’s definitely something the two of them are going to talk about later. “You had a bit of a rocky beginning to the season with your injury from last year, so how’s that arm feeling?”_

_“Good as new.”_

_“Perfect, it looked like.”_

_Even under his hat she can see the rise of his brow. “You been looking at my arms then, love?”_

_He is such a flirt. It’s ridiculous. At least he’s not one of the creepy ones. She gets it a lot as a part of her job and the general state of men, but she’s thankful for the fact that Jones never crosses the line. And she’s watched his interviews. He seems to simply be a flirt naturally, no trying necessary._

_“Me and a couple million other people.”_

_He barks out a laugh, his head thrown back a bit, and she can see the sharp underside of his stubbled jaw. “Well, my sister-in-law tells me most people are looking at my ass, so that’s kind of a relief.”_

_“Oh my God,” Ruby groans, “there are so many things you could say. But don’t. Ask him one more question.”_

_“So, Killian Jones, World Series Champion and MVP, now that you’ve done something every baseball player dreams of, is there anything else that you want to do?”_

_His mouth snaps closed, his teeth disappearing in exchange of a closed lip smile, and he tilts his head to the side while his eyes flicker up and down her face, very obviously scrutinizing her before his lips part once more._

_“Yeah,” he says, adjusting his hat, “I think I’d like to go on a date with you. What do you say, Swan? You want to go out on a date with me?”_

_“Emma Swan,” Ruby grits, her voice yelling in Emma’s ear, “if you do not say yes, I will lock you out of the apartment. Think of the ratings.”_

_Later, she’s definitely going to talk to Ruby about sexual harassment. Not that this is what that is. She could say no. Yeah, he asked her on live television. That’s kind of dickish. But he’s not forcing her into it. Ruby might be, but that’s an issue for another time. Right now her issue is that she kind of feels like both vomiting on Killian’s shoes and punching him in the stomach for putting her on the spot like this._

_Three years of interviewing him, and this is what he’s going to do._

_No part of it surprises her._

_“Yes.”_

The video has three million views, and every time she refreshes it, there are more. She’s gained fifty thousand followers on Twitter, about the same on Instagram, and she had to turn all of her notifications off because her phone was literally going to shut itself down. She once tried living off of Tom Brady’s diet for a week, but this is the craziest thing she’s ever experienced.

This is not how her day was supposed to go. Not at all.

She needs, like, an entire bottle of wine and whatever the most expensive thing on the room service menu is. But she doesn’t have that. All she has are texts from Ruby.

Ruby: _Are you still mad at me?_

Emma: _I am literally a meme online._

Ruby: _So what does that mean?_

Emma: _You owe me big time. I can’t believe he asked me out._

Ruby: _You’re hot. I’d ask you out._

Emma: _That’s not helping._

Ruby: _I wasn’t trying to. You could have said no._

Emma: _You threatened to lock me out of the apartment!_

Ruby: _Semantics._

Ruby: _Our ratings today were incredible. That’s because of you_.

Emma: _That’s because it was the seventh game of the World Series. That has nothing to do with me._

Ruby: _Eh, maybe. Have you checked your Twitter?_

Emma: _I turned it off. Why?_

Ruby: _Your lover retweeted the video of him asking you out, and added a caption to it. Go check it out, but please don’t go nuclear on him. You cannot kill someone._

Emma: _I can when they ask me out knowing I can’t say no._

Ruby: _KJ is literally the nicest guy in that locker room. He’s flirty, but he would go to the ends of the earth to make anyone feel comfortable. He’s the reason you get to go into the locker room in the first place. You know that, right? Most teams are still full of sexist pigs._

Emma: _What? He gives me access to a bunch of sweaty men and because of that I have to sleep with him? That’s regressing women by…a lot._

Ruby: _Literally, you don’t even have to go on the date. You know that, right?_

Ruby: _Eat a Snickers. You’re not you when you’re hungry. I don’t want you to be pissed._

Emma: _I’m not pissed...anymore. I’m just confused. Why would he ask me out like that?_

Ruby: _Again, you’re hot. And you guys literally flirt all of the time on camera. Apparently, people have noticed._

Emma: _We do not, and if you suggest that again, I will come to your hotel room and wake Graham up so that you’re stuck with him being grumpy all day tomorrow._

Ruby: _Go eat that Snickers._

Her best friend may very well be the most ridiculous person in the world, but Emma loves her. She really does. Ruby is definitely a little more on the wild, unfiltered side than she is, but honestly, that makes everything all the more entertaining. And she knows that she’s right about the whole date thing. She could have said no, she doesn’t have to go, and this is something that will blow over in a few days time. Everything has the possibility to go viral now, but it always goes away and fades into oblivion. And literally, she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to. She’s an adult. She’s not going to put up with any kind of shit, and that includes being goaded into a date with Killian Jones.

…even if they may or may not have flirted with each other on and off for a few years.

But he flirts with everyone. It’s just how he is, just how he talks, and that’s what she tells herself every time he says something that’s a little more on the flirty side. That’s what she kept telling herself tonight to keep from raging over her day.

Seriously. She gets the chance as a woman not named Erin Andrews to cover the one of the biggest sporting days in the year, and all anyone can talk about is that she got asked out on a date.

(To be fair, journalistically, she understands that this makes a great story.)

Rolling over on the mattress and sinking into the plush cushions, she opens up her twitter app, her notifications flooded to the point where she gives up scrolling through them and goes to Killian’s page, knowing his handle by heart.

(It’s her job, okay?)

**@killianjones29: @emmaswanespn How do you feel about pizza? I know a great place back in Manhattan.**

“Oh my God,” she mutters to herself, clicking on the replies before quickly clicking out of them. The internet is a very weird place, and she does not need to see all of that.

She loves pizza, but she is not responding to that right now. He probably is out drunk right now celebrating with all of his teammates and whatever girls are around, and she doesn’t have any interest in that.

Not at all.

* * *

The date is all that she hears about at work, especially now that baseball is over for the year and she’s not on air as much as she usually is, mostly sitting behind a desk talking for segments or writing articles online, doing prep work for next season and training and everything else that she has to do. But whenever she tweets, posts a picture, writes an article, does anything with an online presence, her comment section is full of questions about her date with Killian and whether or not it’s happened yet.

BREAKING NEWS: it has not.

But it’s consuming anything she does online and taking over all of the office conversation. Granted, most of that is coming from Ruby and Ashely, but still. It counts.

And it’s going to drive her absolutely insane.

She needs a vacation or something.

Luckily, though, Killian doesn’t tweet her again. He doesn’t message her, doesn’t post a picture of the two of them on Instagram. It’s all radio silence on his end, and she chalks the entire thing up to a rush of adrenaline. He’d just won the World Series. If she had done that, she’d be asking everyone out left and right.

Well, not everyone, but a lot more people than usual.

“Are we out of milk?” Graham asks, staring into the refrigerator and very obviously seeing that they’re out of milk. “When did that happen?”

She holds up her bowl of cereal in answer. “I’m not working today, so I’ll go get some more groceries. You can leave me a list before you go to work, okay?”

He grumbles something in response, not that she can really hear over the crunch of her cereal. She loves Graham. She really and truly does, but living with Ruby and her boyfriend is definitely an adjustment to living with just Ruby. But hey, rent is cheaper, so it all works out in the end, especially when Graham cooks more than anyone else in the apartment.

“Emma Swan,” Ruby yells from her bedroom, her voice only muted because of the walls in between them. Emma doesn’t bother saying something back, knowing that Ruby is about to run into the living room and yell at her for whatever it is she’s upset about. Sure enough, not thirty seconds later, Ruby is sliding across the hardwood in her socks with her laptop in her hands until she unceremoniously plops down onto the couch, nearly making Emma spill her cheerios. “Did you see this?”

“Did I see what?”

Ruby shoves her laptop into her lap, and Emma groans before she hands off her cereal to Ruby, knowing that she’s most likely going to finish it off for her anyways. It’s a video, one paused on Kelly Rippa’s face, and she has no idea why Ruby is freaking out until she presses play and sees the video transition over to Killian Jones himself sitting on one of those barstools in a light blue checkered button down that hugs his arms and dark navy pants that make her think thoughts that she usually reserves for late at night when she’s either by herself or with someone that she met at the bar.

(And, if she’s honest, at some baseball games. The pants really work for some men.)

“So,” Kelly continues, a bright smile on her face as her hands move around, “we know all about you being a baseball star and that your biggest fans are your nieces, which is adorable by the way. But what we don’t know is about your love life. And a handsome man like you has to have a love life.”

Blush rises on his cheeks, and he does that nervous tick thing where he scratches behind is ear. If the opposing team could read Killian Jones like she can, they would win almost every game. Maybe that’s a career opportunity if broadcasting doesn’t work out for her.

“Ah, well, you’d be surprised. There are only so many women out there like you, Kelly.”

Kelly absolutely beams, laughing a big, belly laugh, and Ryan Seacrest leans forward on his chair. Seriously, how many jobs does this guy have? When does he sleep?

  
“What about the interviewer that you asked out? Emma Swan? That didn’t go anywhere?”

The crowd cheers, and she sinks down on the couch, finally understanding why Ruby is showing her this video. When she glances to the side, Ruby has a shit-eating grin on her face, and Graham is peering over their shoulders.

She’s going to move cities and live alone or something. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with this.

“Ah, if I’m honest, no. It was bad form to have asked her out on the spot like that, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins had me a little out of my mind. She’s a, well, I work with Emma a lot. She’s bloody brilliant, knows my game better than I do. Hell, she knows everyone’s game better than they do. And I fancy her a little and maybe didn’t think too much about the implications of asking her out on TV, so I honestly feel like I need to reach out to her and apologize.”

“He fancies you,” Graham teases, and if she could reach him, she’d slap him.

“That’s actually kind of sweet” Ruby sighs, “and not as asshole misogynistic as you thought it was.”

“I’m still not going out with him even if he obviously has taste in knowing that I’m brilliant.”

“Yeah, well,” Ruby shrugs, “he’d have to be blind not to realize that.”

* * *

“I want you to go out on a date with Jones.”

At the sound of the words, she immediately tosses her head down onto her desk, unable to stop herself. It’s been four and half months since the now infamous question was asked to her live on air, and while it did eventually die down, it’s never quite stopped. And maybe she’s annoyed by it, maybe she’s not really because her social media engagement has increased tenfold since then which helps a lot with work, but mostly she wants for it all to go away so that she doesn’t have to deal with it until she flies down to Florida for spring training in two weeks.

“No.”

“Emma,” David scolds, and she only opens one eye to look up at him from her desk, her picture frames and cup of pens in her way. He’s got his hands on his hips, which intimidates literally everyone in the office but her, so she knows that he means business.

“David.”

“It’s not a real date.” She opens her mouth to say something, and he holds his finger up, effectively making her press her lips together as she props her chin up on her forearm. “And don’t say it’s sexist to make you do this. If the man asked me out on a date, I’d go.”

“You’re married. To a woman, I might add.”

David chuckles at her before sitting down in the chair across from her desk, crossing his leg over his knee and looking at her with that disapproving gaze that makes her feel more like his daughter than his employee.

“You obviously don’t have to do this. This isn’t a mandatory assignment, but I’ve been talking with some of the higher ups about how to increase our coverage. You’re one of our most current and in demand on-air talents, and we get more views and clicks talking about you and Jones than anything else. It’s entertainment, Emma. Him asking you out was a huge thing, and instead of you going on an actual date with him, we’ve talked to his manager and asked if he’d be willing to do some type of interview.”

She raises her brow. “What kind of interview?”

“You fly to Florida, do some of your regular coverage of the team and of some of the others, but then you spend a day with a small production team and Jones, letting him walk you through a day in the life when they’re prepping for the season. We have it be a big segment, you get paid, there’s more exposure, we ride on the Swan-Jones media exposure that we’ve been getting before it goes away.”

“Nice to know you’re just using me.”

David shrugs his shoulders before he leans forward to take a peppermint out of the bowl on her desk, the plastic crinkling as he opens the package and pops the peppermint in his mouth. “Again, you don’t have to do it, but you have to admit that it’s a great idea. You’re breaking barriers every time you work a baseball game. One day you could get your own show, be a commentator, do whatever you want. This will help.”

It’s true. She knows that it is. It’s actually a great idea. She could do a version of Vogue’s seventy-three questions, not that she could think of that many, and it would give her the opportunity to boost her own career as well as Killian’s. Yeah, she’d have to talk to him again, but it’s probably better for it to be behind the scenes (and in front of the camera obviously) than be sprung onto the field and forced to talk to him with a camera streaming live television two feet from her face.

Can she damn herself for actually wanting to do this for her career?

And maybe so the questions and comments about the date that never even happened will stop. Killian Jones is a fascinating guy with a damn good story. How bad can this be?

* * *

Florida is a swampy wasteland, and the humidity is going to kill her. New York can be bad. She knows this. She’s experienced it for most of her life. Sometimes she has to shower multiple times in one day simply from walking outside, but she can feel the humidity seeping into her skin the moment she steps out of the car and onto the pavement in front of Steinbrenner Field.

Of course, she knows this about the weather. She comes down here every year, but there’s something particularly miserable about the weather today. She knows that it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, that the water and humidity are hanging heavily in the air, but she literally already has sweat dripping down her back underneath her blouse.

If she was allowed to wear her gym shorts and a sports bra and nothing else to work, she totally would. That would be highly inappropriate and likely get her fired or have her demeaned online, but it honestly might be worth it to handle the heat that’s happening right now. And if Jeff’s grumbling is anything to go by, he’s feeling the heat too. Considering he’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with camera equipment slung over his shoulder, he most likely is going to pass out today.

It’s March.

How the hell do people live here during the summer?

After letting Jeff get a few exterior shots of the complex for B-roll footage, they walk through the front doors and ask a receptionist where to sign in to get their credentials and approval to get into the locker room and out on the field. It takes far longer than it should for that to happen considering the receptionist, a snippy older lady, doesn’t believe they’re there for legit reasons, but after she calls one of the Yankees team managers, they finally get approval to walk through a set of glass double doors and down a hallway lined with framed jerseys of legends of the past, Jeff filming the walk and making her slow down every few seconds even though she’s already thinking that she’ll have Killian walk through the halls while they talk since it’ll be nice backdrop.

She’s a fan of the West Wing style interview.

If she’s not walking, she’s not talking.

Okay, that’s a cheesy motto, but it tends to work when it comes to interviewing. People are more likely to be sincere and to feel comfortable when they have something to focus on other than sitting down in an uncomfortable chair with bright lights beaming down on them. Athletes, especially, are not the type to want to sit still unless they absolutely have to.

So West Wing style it is.

“Emma Swan,” a woman with red hair calls, waving her down when she and Jeff come to the end of a hall. She’s dressed in a green suit, which very weirdly works for her, and any woman who can pull off a green pantsuit has her respect. “Hi, hi, hi. I’m so sorry about the confusion up front. That is completely on me for not calling up and telling Loretta. I’m Ariel Fisher. I work in public relations for the team. I spoke with your boss on the phone. I can’t believe we’ve never met before.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She reaches forward to take Ariel’s hand, shaking it three times before releasing it and motioning to Jeff. “This is Jeff Madden. He’s my one-man crew for the day.”

“Pleasure,” Jeff grunts, not really one for words when it comes to new people.

“So,” Ariel claps, “I’ve got a bit of a busy day today, but now that you have your credentials, if you go down the stairs and to the left, you’ll find the locker room. The team is in the gym right now, so feel free to get some footage. I think Killian should be with you within thirty minutes or so. If you need anything at all,” she hands over a card, “call me. But I think you’ll be just fine. Killian is too excited to do this interview, which I think is funny since he’s usually not one for such personal interviews. I think he nearly murdered me when I had him go on all of those morning talk shows.”

Ariel’s phone beeps, she looks down at it, immediately picks it up, and then walks away, her heels clacking against the tile before she disappears behind another door.

“Well she’s a talker,” Jeff whines as they start toward the staircase, looking out the windows at the field. It’s not Yankee Stadium, but it’s always so impressive. The view from inside the facility may be even better. Maybe she can get players from all of the teams to ask her out so she can get this kind of access everywhere. Is that weird? Or wrong? It might be wrong.

“Everyone is a talker to you.”

“True.”

When they walk in the locker room, she immediately notices the similarities to the one at home. It’s basically a replica with its deep blue carpets and chestnut lockers, leather chairs sitting in the middle over the logo with television screens placed throughout that the room. She’d bet that the door to the left leads to the physical therapy rooms while the one to the right leads to the gym, and the one at the opposite end is definitely the showers. It makes sense to keep things the same, but it makes her laugh a bit since it’s going to make their footage the slightest bit confusing.

Whatever. She’s not really here for the background footage.

That makes it sound like she’s here for Killian, and while that’s technically true, she’s here for the baseball.

It’s always been baseball.

Really, it’s always been any sport. She couldn’t play most of them growing up, not outside of school anyway, but no matter what foster home she was living in, she could always find a baseball game or a tennis match or even a swim meet. And all over the country, all over the world (even with a few changes there, especially in regards to what sports are played), sports are the same. Her life was always in upheaval, never feeling steady, but she could watch people hit the balls out of the stadiums every day and feel that comfort of knowing that it’d be the same tomorrow when she could never have that reassurance anywhere else.

For someone who could never afford to play anything, she’s always felt like someone who was destined to be a part of the team.

Meeting David Nolan was obviously some kind of fate to make that happen because this is never how she imagined her life at any age, especially not as young as twenty-seven.

A set of doors to the right opens, and all of the sudden the peace and quiet of the locker room evaporates to be filled with the sound of feet against carpet and voices bouncing back and forth as the team walks into the room, all of them drenched in sweat, the smell already reaching her nostrils. It’s a hazard of the job, but she’s kind of used to it at this point.

Most of the team knows her, having met her before or simply recognizing her since she travels to nearly every one of their games to cover them, so it’s a string of nods and short greetings before they all branch off to their lockers or the showers, the door finally closing behind the man she was waiting for.

In a totally professional sense.

Killian walks next to Robin Locksley, the two of them chatting about something, but she doesn’t really care or notice when her eyes are glancing over the way that his gray joggers hug the muscles of his thighs as they lay low enough on his hips that she can see the dip of the v into his pants and the trail of dark hair that leads…that is an entirely inappropriate thought, one that could get her fired, so even as her body hums, she looks up his body, attempting to ignore the muscles of his stomach and his arms (seriously, where is his shirt?) and look directly at his face.

His face doesn’t exactly help to make her thoughts disappear.

He’s gotten a haircut since the last time that she saw him, and while she’ll miss the long hair, she kind of likes the short cut and the few pieces of fringe that are falling onto his tanned forehead. And even if his hair is shorter, his beard is slightly longer, but not in a gross way where food would get caught in it.

(She has a lot of opinions about beards like that, okay?)

“Pick your jaw up from the ground,” Jeff whispers into her ear as he nudges her shoulder.

Her mouth snaps closed, and she has that lingering thought of how much shit Jeff is going to give her for this later. He’s not a talker to others, but man does he love to mess with her.

“Swan!” Killian says as he smiles a beatific smile at her, his step quickening a bit before he’s standing in front of her and taking her hand, shaking it once before bringing it to his lips. That is…not a handshake. “Good to see you. I figured you were going to stand me up.”

“Yeah, well, I get paid to be here.”

“Funnily enough, so do I.” He winks at her, and her stomach twists. This job is so strange. “I need to take a quick shower, but then I’ll be all ready to go for the interview. This is our free time, so I’ll try to hurry.”

“Take your time. I have to spend all day with you. I don’t want you to smell.”

Killian’s brow raises, but he doesn’t say anything else, simply smiling at her before walking away and back through the doors she thought would lead to the showers. Wow, it really is the exact same.

“Do you want something to eat, Emma?” Robin asks her as he sheds his shirt before changing into a t-shirt that looks like it’s from his days at Vanderbilt. “We’ll have lunch soon, but we have snacks.”

“Are they donuts?”

“No,” he laughs, sitting down in his locker, “they’re not. Someone should have prepared knowing that you’re going to be here.”

“Damn right. How’s Roland? Still adorable?”

“Absolutely. He’s back home with his mom, but I get calls every day asking about when I’ll be playing back home instead of here.”

“I want to know the same, kid. It’s so hot down here.”

“It is pretty miserable.” Robin reaches down to undo his shoes, loosening the laces. “So, are you and Jones going on that date for this interview?”

She groans, unable to help herself. Robin is one of her favorite players, mostly because he’s a fantastic human being, but knowing him so well also means that he likes to tease her. It’s the same with Will, Arthur…Killian. But Robin feels more like David, like a fatherly figure, than any of the others.

“Am I ever going to live that down?”

“Never. But if it helps, we all gave Killian hell for that.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “that helps a lot.”

“Alright, Swan,” Killian claps when he comes out of the showers dressed in a pair of blue joggers and a fitted gray t-shirt, his feet still bare and hair still wet, “let’s talk.”

* * *

“Favorite player growing up?”

“Chipper Jones.”

“Because he had the same last name as you?”

“Exactly.”

“Of course. Okay, favorite cheat day dessert?”

“Cheesecake but one with fruit flavoring. Chocolate isn’t my favorite.”

“What are you most likely to be doing on an off day?”

“Either sitting on my ass watching TV or spending time with my family.”

“Sport you like to watch the most besides baseball?”

“Tennis.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like the physicality of it and the strategy behind it.”

“Do you have a secret talent no one else knows about?”

“I can quote the entire Soup Nazi episode of Seinfeld.”

Emma can’t help but chuckle at that considering it’s one of her favorite episodes of TV of all time. She can’t help but chuckle at a lot of his answers. They’ve been slowly walking through the facility for the past thirty minutes, and she’s been asking him questions off of her list to try to get to know him a bit better. For the interview, obviously. Some of the first ones were about baseball, things that she knows but her viewers might not, but then they melded into questions about favorite junk foods and movies and whether or not he washes his pants every day or if he simply buys a new pair since they’re always so damn white.

It’s entirely comfortable, especially since the date has not been brought up, and she finds herself laughing at some of his answers, at the ease and charm and cheekiness that comes with it all. She may have been reluctant to do this, but she can already tell that this is going to be a great segment.

“Okay,” she laughs, still unable to stop chuckling at the thought of him quoting that entire episode, “what would you do for a living if you didn’t play baseball?”

“I was going to enlist in the Navy.”

She’s taken back by the immediate answer and the somber way that he says it. This is very obviously something that he didn’t have to think about.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, only one side of his lips forming a smile that makes him seem entirely boyish. “I didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and I couldn’t afford to go to college. My brother was in the Navy, so it felt like the natural conclusion for me. But then Vandy gave me that scholarship, and my entire life changed.”

“You met Locksley there, right?”

“He was a senior when I was a freshman, but yeah. We roomed together at a summer training camp, and apparently not much has changed since then.”

She laughs at that too before looking down at her phone at her list of questions, trying to decide what she wants to ask now. So many of them are dumb and playful, but she’s not entirely sure that she wants to ask him what his favorite color is.

“So, you’re twenty-eight and a World Series champion for the first time. That’s the ultimate baseball dream. How does that change expectations going forward? Has your life changed at all since then?”

Killian hums next to her and stops in front of a set of floor-to-ceiling windows with the field behind him, fresh green grass vibrant against the bright sun. It’s pretty much the perfect picture.

“Well, for one, I haven’t had a date with you.” She rolls her eyes even as she smiles. She should have known he’d say that, and from the smile on his face, he’s proud of himself. “But I don’t think my life has changed. It’s incredible to have that accomplishment, for sure. I’m proud of my team and what we’ve done. But I still wake up and put the work in every day and then spend my free time with my friends, my family. I like being a normal guy. The only reason anyone knows who I am is because I know how to hit a ball with a bat. It doesn’t make me special.”

“And going forward?” she prods, letting his answer settle within her while still trying to get a little more out of Killian.

He smiles that million-dollar grin before turning around to look out at the field, his hand pressing against the glass. “I want to play the game. I want to have fun and be competitive. Breaking my arm two years ago, not being able to play, it put me in a really dark place personally and professionally. The injury wasn’t serious, obviously, but it could have been. The wreck could have been worse, and I could have lost the sport that has really helped develop my life.”

“Have you been back on a boat yet?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, tapping his knuckles against the glass. “It was a freak accident. It’s not something that’s going to happen every time. I doubt I’ll ever be in a boating accident again, but I’ve had to learn that I can’t let fear dictate my life. And I look damn good in a pair of swim trunks.”

It’s a tactic she’s watched him use for years. He jokes in serious conversations, in serious situations, and she gets it. She does the same, but he’s being vulnerable with her and with the camera knowing this is all going to air. She’s getting to see more into the inner mechanisms of how he ticks, and it’s not something she’s going to take for granted.

“I think it’s time to go get lunch,” she tells him to change the subject. “Wouldn’t want you to wither away and lose that boat body.”

“I always knew you liked my body.”

If she rolls her eyes one more time at him, they’re going to get stuck that way.

(She listens to David too much.)

For the rest of the day, she and Jeff are pretty much flies on the wall even though she asks the occasional question to Killian or his teammates as she sits through lunch, batting practice in the cages, batting practice on the field, and more physical therapy and training. It’s a packed day, one without a lot of downtime, and she’s exhausted simply watching it happen. But none of the guys seem to mind, each of them going throughout the day without much complaining, except for Will Scarlett. That’s par for the course for him, though.

But then it’s time for their game. They’re playing the Marlins, and she camps out behind third base to simply watch, her feet propped up in the seat in front of her as she gets to enjoy it all, not having to worry about working or taking notes or preparing questions to ask when the game is all over. It’s been a long time since she actually got to sit and enjoy a game, and it’s remarkably pleasant even if she is sweltering under the heavy humidity, dark storm clouds inching closer and closer with every passing minute. She wouldn’t be surprised if it started pouring down rain within the hour.

It doesn’t, though. The rain holds off until the game is over, until the fans have left, and she’s sitting in the therapy room watching Killian get his legs messaged as she asks him a few final wrap-up questions for the interview. When it’s all over, Killian is walking with her down the hallways to exit the facility, Jeff following behind them still mumbling about how heavy his equipment is.

Seriously.

When they get to the exit, the rain pouring down outside, they both stop in front of the glass doors, Killian dropping his duffle bag to the ground.

“Thanks for today,” she tells him, meaning it. “I really appreciate it since I know it’s all kind of crazy for you guys. I’ve got to edit it, but I think it’ll air right before the first official game.”

“It was no problem, love. I enjoyed it. Truly.” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “Listen, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable when I asked you out. That was not my smartest move, and I’ve felt awful about it ever since even if do keep making unfortunate jokes about it.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s – I mean, I was pissed at first, but it’s fine. It was a heat of the moment kind of thing.”

“You were pissed?”

“Oh yeah. Think about it. I’m a woman covering baseball, and I get asked out on live television by one of the most well-known faces in the sport? I have to say yes for ratings. It’s not even a question. And then it opens up the opportunity for more men to think that they can hit on me or ask me out, and before you know it, I’m dating half of the men in the MLB.”

“You’d have a busy calendar.”

“Yeah,” she laughs, shaking her head, “I would. I don’t – I thank you for your apology, but I am curious about one thing. I know you say it was the adrenaline, but what was the real reason you asked me out?”

“Off the record?”

“Off the record.”

“I fancy you.” His lips press into a soft smile, and his eyes crinkle the slightest bit, blue eyes bright under the harsh lights of the room. His eyes are ridiculously blue. “You’re very obviously beautiful, but you’re also brilliant. I’ve watched you work, read your analysis of games. You know the game better than most anyone, and you kick ass showing people that you don’t have to be a former player to love and know the game. That’s always been a pet peeve of mine. Just because you don’t play the game doesn’t mean you can’t love it. And in the spirit of full honesty, I knew it would be the last time I saw you until the new season. I didn’t want to pass that up.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

His words make her stomach twist, something unfamiliar and yet familiar all the same even if she hasn’t felt it in a few years, and she’s sure that her heart beating is visible through her shirt. Or maybe Killian can hear it from how loud it is, but really, she’s trying not to think about any of that.

This is not how today was supposed to go.

She’s always known that he was a genuine guy, if not the slightest bit cocky, but damn. She either feels like she just took a ball to the gut or hit a grand slam. She can’t tell.

“Anyways,” he continues, his hand rubbing at his stubble-covered chin, “my plan didn’t exactly work out. If you’re not interested, I sure as hell can’t ask you to be. I can’t wait to see the segment.”

With those words, he opens the door and steps out underneath the covered awning, the rain beating against the metal. She is pretty much glued to the ground, but in a move that she one day knows she is going to chalk up to adrenaline, much like Killian did, she takes the steps out the door to yell down at Killian.

“I’m interested.”

He stops walking and twists around, both brows practically in his hairline. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Killian smiles at her. “I’m still willing to take you to that pizza place in Manhattan.”

“What about a pizza place in Tampa?”

“I can do that too.”

After they’ve exchanged numbers, something she still can’t believe she’s doing, Killian walks away to head to his car while she’s left still standing under the awning. Jeff walks up next to her, his shoulder hitting hers, and it’s only then that she remembers that he’s here.

“Dude. You went on for months about how you were not going to date him, and you basically just asked him out.”

“Shut up.”

“I got it on film.”

She reaches back to slap his shoulder, disbelief settling down inside of her. “I hate you.”

“Just trying to document this fairytale romance.”

“You want to come to the pizza place and document that too?”

“Nah,” he sighs, beginning to walk ahead of her. “I don’t need to see that. It’s been bad enough watching you two all day.”

“It was work,” she protests.

“Work with a hell of a lot of flirting. Dinner is on you tonight since you’re getting a free one tomorrow.”

“I could pay on the date. You don’t know.”

“Come on,” he laughs, waving her ahead. “I need you to pull up the car so the camera doesn’t get wet.”

This is a weird day.

* * *

It turns out that she doesn’t have time to go and eat pizza with baseball players who charm her. She and Jeff get assigned to cover other teams and spring training games while they’re in Florida, so she has to text Killian and cancel before traveling throughout the state. It’s disappointing, but it’s kind of a relief. Jeff kept teasing her about it all, which made her second guess everything, and her stomach was beginning to twist and turn in an unpleasant way instead of the small flutters of excitement and anticipation that she felt after she told Killian she was interested.

But work is work, and it’s going to come first. So she sweats (thanks heat) and interviews players from teams she usually doesn’t interact with and films a few segments to air to give everyone a glimpse at spring training. While on the road or on a flight, she works on editing Killian’s interview all while texting back and forth with him, something they seemed to fall into without her realizing it.

And despite the fact that she talks for a living, texting seems to be so much easier.

Killian: _Is this entire interview going to be me making strange faces?_

She laughs under her breath at his text. She’s taken to sending him bad screenshots of the video because, well, it’s highly entertaining, and the poor man most likely thinks that she’s going to screw over his public persona with these awful little clips.

Emma: _You have a very expressive face._

Killian: _Where are you today?_

Emma: _I’m on the plane back to NYC right now. I need to get into the studio to finish this up with some of our legit editors if I want it to air on Thursday._

Killian: _It really shouldn’t take so long for you to edit me to be charming._

Emma: _It’s a hell of a lot of work. You have no idea._

Killian: _Maybe your questions are the problem._

Emma: _Shut your mouth. My questions were awesome._

Killian: _They were. Are you working the game on Thursday?_

Emma: _Yep. I’ll be in my little corner. If you hit a home run, maybe I’ll interview you after the game._

Killian: _I like that kind of motivation, love._

Emma: _Good. I like winners._

They land at JFK an hour before midnight, and it takes a ridiculous amount of time for her Uber to get to her apartment. The hallway lights are all turned off, and it’s a miracle that she doesn’t wake up Ruby or Graham in her quiet tip toeing back to her bedroom, especially when she curses over stubbing her toe on an end table in the hallway. But everything is still quiet, and when she gets to her room, she drops her bag, takes off all of her clothes except her underwear, and then collapses into the mattress, falling asleep almost immediately.

She really missed her bed.

But she doesn’t get to sleep long, her alarm blaring in her ear early the next morning, and she doesn’t bother doing anything but showering and throwing her hair into a tangled bun on top of her head before going into the office and sitting down with the editing team, looking through clips and cutting questions, helping them to decided what transitions and music to use all the while she practically has all ten hours of footage memorized.

There’s a lot of weird clips, most of which come from Jeff trying to be funny. He’s an eclectic guy.

Ruby comes in the room right at the time that everyone is watching her pretty much ask Killian out, and she sinks a little further into her rolling chair hoping to disappear so as not to deal with any of it. But Ruby doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a quip, doesn’t tease her, and of every weird thing that’s happened, that’s the one she was expecting the least.

Ruby never keeps her mouth shut about anything.

By the time midnight rolls around, she’s got a completely edited video, several clips to post online to her social media, and she’s sent it all off to David and the executives to be approved before airing tomorrow afternoon.

It’s a relief to have it finished, to have another project checked off the list, and she files away all of the video footage into her folder on Killian, which sounds much creepier than it actually is.

Killian: _Good luck today!_

Emma: _Why are you telling me good luck? You’re the one playing a game._

Killian: _Your piece is airing. That’s a big deal, Swan._

Emma: _It’s really good. You only come off as a slight jackass._

Killian: _That’s the ultimate level of jackass._

The snort that escapes her is through no fault of her own, and she tries to stifle it with the throw pillow on the couch.

It obviously doesn’t work.

“So did you ever go on a date with him?” Ruby questions as she swipes red nail polish over her fingernails.

Ah, there’s the question she’s been waiting for.

“Nope.”

“But you’re texting Jones, right?”

“Possibly.”

“Definitely, Ems. I saw the footage. You basically asked him out. Why haven’t you gone out? You two have had a standing date since October.”

“We’ve been busy. We’ve got high-paced jobs.”

“It’s Opening Day, and we’re both sitting in our living room still in our pajamas. You have time.”

“I know, I know.” She waves Ruby away, twisting her head to look at her. “It’s…complicated. I don’t know. We text all the time, we both know that we’re interested. But I got called away to work and he’s just now back in New York. We’ll figure it out.”

“You better. Not everyone can say that their best friend is dating a baseball player.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can say that their best friend is dating a detective or that she herself is a badass producer.”

Ruby waves her nail polish brush in the air. “Touché. I know we were just talking about how much time we have, but you’ve got to be at the fields in two hours. You know that, right?”

“My call time isn’t until three.”

“No, yours is at noon. You’re working the pre-show, remember?”

“Oh shit.”

She practically rolls off of the couch before running back into her room to get dressed, pulling on her pants and tucking her blue and white stripped top into them. She’s sure someone will say that she looks like a sailor, but considering she can’t wear a jersey to work, this will have to do. Luckily, she washed her hair last night, so she doesn’t have to worry about anything more than spraying some dry shampoo into her hair and curling it the slightest bit, knowing that someone will be around the studio to fix it at some point. It’s definitely not putting her best foot forward, but the pre-show completely and totally slipped her mind since she’s never gotten to work it before.

It’s likely the most high-profile day of her career, and she’s in a rush to get ready because she forgot.

How sleep deprived is she that she forgot?

(She’s going to blame Killian since she did stay up late talking to him.)

But she makes it there with time to spare and to go over her notes, especially since she’s not going on air until the second hour to introduce Killian’s interview, and by the time all of that rolls around, her entire day is a blur of muted colors and harried questions until there are claps on her backs and wishes of congratulations for her piece.

She did it.

She finished it.

And it was good.

Damn good.

And then it’s Opening Day at Yankee Stadium, and she’s sitting in an open press box near the field watching the game, reviewing stats, and cheering on the team that she’s come to call her own.

If there’s a specific player who she likes a little bit more than the others, well, that’s her business.

Killian plays an incredible game with several assists and three RBIs, and his stat sheet alone makes her realize that she’s going to get to go out on the field and interview him when it’s all over. An idea sparks in her mind, one that’s likely a little reckless but also probably ratings gold – as well as good for her personal life – and after she’s pulled her hair up into a ponytail and fixed up her makeup, she has Ruby attach her microphone pack to the back of her pants and makes her way through the gates to get out near the on-field press so that she can move in to get her exclusive.

Killian sees her before she even steps on the field, and his lips curve into a bright smile, making his cheeks more flushed than the sweat already made him. His pants have grass stains on them, his hair is drenched underneath his cap, and he looks like a verifiable mess.

She likes that mess.

“You give a girl one exclusive and suddenly she’s everywhere you go,” he teases, stopping right in front of her.

“No one even said I was out here for you, Jones.”

He clicks his tongue. “I assumed.”

“That’s a bold assumption.”

“There is so much flirting going on right now,” Ruby groans in her ear, reminding her that she really is out here to do a job. “You guys need to work out all of this sexual tension. Not on the field, obviously. But somewhere.”

“I’m a bold man.”

“Obviously. Funnily enough,” she laughs, switching her microphone on and nodding at Jeff as he follows behind her (the poor man is likely so tired of this), “I am actually here to ask you a few questions.”

“Fire away.”

Her stomach twists once more, but this time it isn’t a feeling of dread. It’s one of excitement, one she’d like to feel forever, and the thrill of anticipation works its way over her in chills that don’t match up with the heat today.

She may not have liked being put on the spot back in October, her entire world flipping and changing in a way that she wasn’t sure that she liked, but she thinks this question is about to go over a little better than the first time, especially since she’s the one asking. After all, she’s the professional here when it comes to asking questions.

“Killian Jones, you played a great game today, and I think a celebration is in order.”

He raises that one eyebrow, his smile faltering before ticking back up again, and she knows that he’s already picked up on what she’s about to do. He’s a perceptive one.

“And what do you suggest, love?”

“I hear there’s a pizza place around here that’s pretty good, and I am a hell of a good time on a date. So, what do you say? You want to go out with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

And then Killian dips his head down to glide his lips over hers, his hand threading into her ponytail and pulling her closer to him so she can feel the heat and firmness of his body all the while her hands grab onto his jersey, nails and microphone digging into him. She doesn’t care, though, and definitely doesn’t think about the fact that she’s making out with someone on television, mostly because that someone is Killian. His lips are warm, a little salty from the sweat, but really all she can think about is how good this kiss feels and how much she wants to keep on doing this and feeling like she’s the one who scored tonight.

(Obviously not on television, though, and maybe with fewer baseball puns.)

They eat pizza the next night.

And the morning after with Emma walking around Killian’s apartment jokingly wearing one of his jerseys because she told him under no circumstances would she be wearing one in public or showing him any bias simply because they’re together.

Two years later, though, when Jones is her actual last name, she folds and wears a number twenty-nine on her back while sitting behind the desk filming her own show.

Killian is her most frequent guest.


End file.
